Strike a Pose, Fake a Smile
by Tamer Lorika
Summary: Antonio loves the stage; Romano hates it. So when he's "convinced" into coming to drama club, he's not gonna like it. In fact, he's going to say things that he'll regret. And because he's such a good actor, this time Antonio believes him. Uh-oh.
1. Prologue

This is a bad idea, considering the fact that I have… five fics (maybe six) that I'm supposed to be working on and another one or two that I'm starting in on just for fun. But… but plot bunnies are eating me and I wanna get this started. I'm sorry, but I know for sure that updates are going to be sporadic, but I'm going to try to get them up. I hope that you enjoy it for what it is.

**Written for the kinkmeme, prompt is that Spain is finally convinced that Romano really does hate him. But Roma doesn't! And he has to convince Spain of this. Bonus if Spain cries, bonus if Romano has to admit it out-right, because really his little "hints" aren't getting through Spain's head. This **_**will**_** follow the prompt, I SWEAR. Its just gonna… take a bit… in for the long haul, guys?**

**Warnings for language, so far.**

* * *

It was cold in the theatre, at least in the back. It was also dark, but the seats were less worn out and not completely uncomfortable to curl up in. Not to mention, no one could see him, but he could see the whole stage. So that is where Romano sat, setting down his bookbag and twisting so that his back rested on the seat arm and his knees were up to his chin. He was always good at getting into small spaces, into linen closets and under beds. One time, he'd been found in the laundry basket, sleeping like a cat. It was helpful when hiding from the housework.

He tilted his head so that he could see the stage, lit up by bright spotlights and footlights and other lights that probably had names but fuck if he was going to remember them. A clusterfuck of students sat in the first and second rows, hanging over seats and chatting and doing homework.

And then a boy walked onto the stage, a senior, smiling brilliantly with eyes that crinkled at the edges and sheer optimism bright and citrusy enough to melt paint. Slowly, the kids in the front quieted; helped, most likely, but the smouldering gaze of the blonde boy on the edge of the row. The blonde turned back to the boy on stage, signaling with a wave of the hand and a flirtatious wink that he may begin.

"Hola! My name is Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo," he said, rolling his r's in a way that got most of the girls' attention, if they hadn't already been focusing on his perfectly tan skin or his perfectly white teeth or his perfectly confident bearing. "And I will be performing a piece by Neil Simon." A few giggles, there; he pronounced it the Spanish way, Neil See-MOHN. Romano briefly considered finding whoever was laughing and punching them in the face. But he was too comfortable, here. He didn't move.

"Ah, so… I've never done this in front of an audience before... Can I start?" he stage-whispered down the blonde. Francis grinned back at him, nodding.

And so Antonio began.

Romano never listened to the words. He wasn't here to listen to the words. He didn't _care_ about the words. He cared about the way they were said, dropped from bronze lips like every syllable was wine, dribbling from the rim of a glass. He cared about the way they crawled up the sides of his brain, tripping over themselves, rising and falling and undulating their hips as Antonio kept his hands at his sides and breathed life, was life.

He was good. Romano knew he was good. He knew because he was the one that had to listen to the fucker practice his monologue every fucking day after school while he was trying to bull-shit his chem homework. But even after a hundred, thousand times Romano wasn't sure what it was that Antonio had said. Only that he liked it.

And then it was over and there was a smattering of applause, including an enthusiastic wolf-whistle from Francis and Romano made a mental note that yes, _that_ one ought to be punched in the face; but then again he made that mental note at least once a week and so far had only fulfilled it two or three times.

The interesting part was over; Antonio had aced his audition, judging from the lecherous, pleased way that Francis was grinning. Of course Antonio had aced it. Francis was the fucking president of the stupid, defunct drama club. There really hadn't been a doubt; only in Antonio's abnormally empty skull.

So Romano took advantage of the darkness and the small chairs and the hour that he'd have to spend waiting and he fell asleep.

* * *

"…vi? Lovi? Cariño, what are you doing back here?"

Romano sat up, rubbing his eyes. His neck kind of hurt from the odd position he had been in and he let it put him in a bad mood. Otherwise, he might pass out from embarrassment. Antonio's face was right in front of his nose, almost close enough to feel his breath and to go cross-eyes from looking at him.

"Sleeping, what does it look like bastardo?" he said with a glare. Antonio backed off a little, swinging his backpack onto his shoulders.

"But… umm… why?"

God, that boy was thick. And that was okay. Because otherwise, Romano might die. And that wasn't him acting like a dramatic teenaged girl, no way.

"Forget it; worry about something else, like keeping Francis' hands off you now that you're in the club." He had meant it to be a biting comment. But Antonio smiled.

"So you saw that I got in! You were here for my audition, weren't you? You came to watch my audition!"

Shit.

"Did not! I came because it was dark and I was tired and –"

"You came, you came, thank you so much!" Romano was wrenched into a rather painful hug. He winced and growled because _merda_, it hurt, but not as much as it should have because he also felt pleasantly warm and numb and tingly. Double _merda_.

"I had a feeling that I had a guardian angel watching over me today, and look at you! Thank you, Lovi!" Antonio was beaming, and damn how could a simple twitch of the lips look so damn gorgeous?

"If I'm an angel, your version of heaven must be so fucking screwed up," muttered Romano, trying to lessen the damage by swinging his schoolbag up to his shoulders and stalking out. He called over his shoulder.

"You're driving me home, bastard!"

"Oka~y!"

Because that just meant that Antonio was going to stay for dinner. It was a game that they had played for a long time. A game where none of them pretended this was happening. A game that they were both very good at.

Of course, people are not always aware that they're playing a game.


	2. Evening Booze, Morning Rituals

Francis was sitting in the Weillschmidt kitchen after school, slumped across the counter as he sat in one of the bar stools that stood around it. There was a beer bottle in his hand. It was half-way empty.

The only other person in the kitchen was a silver-haired albino boy, trying and failing to keep the smirk off of his face. He patted Francis on the head in a way that may have been comforting, had it been anyone else.

"Aww, Frankie, don't get all worked up. Have another beer, Opa and West are gonna be gone all night. Some orchestra show or some shit."

"Non, I do not want the beer. I want –"

"Wine then? I told you that stuff was like grape barf –"

"Can't you see I'm pining away for love?" Francis demanded, head shooting up to glare at Gilbert with eyes that were surprisingly red-rimmed. Gilbert raised an incredulous eyebrow, unsure how to take this new bit of information.

"Um… dude, you get like this every week. It'll pass. It always does. And then you'll be onto someone new, who, um, doesn't have a boyfriend."

"That is the thing!" pouted Francis, his head buried back in a dramatically flopped arm. Gilbert had to strain to hear the words, muffled in his shirt-fabric. "He does not even have a boyfriend! Only a boy that he is pining after, who will never love him back, I am certain. By all rights the way should be open for me! But _mon amour_ holds such a torch for this vile, cruel underclassman that I cannot seem to get close in the least."

Gilbert rolled his eyes, cracking open a beer for himself. "Whatever. If you could just be awesome like me you might have less trouble. It would be a gift to the world, if everyone was my level of awesome. No war, no hunger, no whining crybaby Frenchies…"

Francis sobbed explosively into his sleeve. Gott, this was getting ridiculous.

"You just have to show your little boytoy that _his_ little boytoy isn't interested, amirite?"

Francis looked up suddenly. He wasn't crying (just as Gilbert had expected) but an unholy glint had crept into his eyes.

"Why, but of course! It is simple! I will let him know the truth of the matter; the truth that he and I should be passionately engaged in –"

"Eugh shut up. Too many details, not enough boobs." Gilbert cut in, draining his beer and grabbing what was left of Francis'. "You keep forgetting, the both of you are my friends. I really don't want to have mental pictures of you and… _Antonio_ doing it."

"Mental pictures are not necessary, friend. Soon, _Toni_ and I will be lovers. I will stake my life on it." With that, Francis strode from the kitchen, looking determined.

Gilbert called after him. "You're welcome for the advice and alcohol and shit! Gah, stupid ungrateful French guys."

* * *

When Romano woke up the next morning, a Tuesday, he made sure to be downstairs, dressed, and at the stove by 7:30. He cut up ingredients for breakfast, washed tomatoes, poured juice and coffee, and then called to his brother.

"Damn, Feli, get your ass down here and start cooking. Anto – We have to leave by eight!"

They had to leave by 8:30, in fact, but it wasn't until eight that Feliciano stumbled downstairs, sleep in his eyes and his tee-shirt askew. Like a somnambulist, he shuffled to the stove and took up the plastic spatula and the eggs already there and used the ingredients that Romano had prepared to make breakfast. Romano usually went back to cramming his calc homework.

At 8:15 their grandfather, resplendent in gold lame boxers and gym socks and little else, strode proudly into the kitchen. It was usually about then that Antonio walked in. He would wave cheerily at _Nonno_ Vargas as if seeing him in his boxers eating cereal and fresh eggs was completely normal. Sadly, it was.

Romano would look up from his calculus, sneakily, afraid to be caught. If he was, Antonio ignored him (_part of the game, part of the game) _and strode over to Feliciano, patting him on the head and smoothing out his teeshirt or hair. Feliciano would make a distracted little 've~~" sound and then would turn back to cooking.

And then, finally, Antonio would turn to Romano, a smile as wide as the fucking Mediterranean and certainly brighter than sun on the water ,fixed on his perfect, early-morning-fresh face. Romano would scowl back. It was hard, though.

"Goodmorning, my little Romano! Delinquent, forget to do your homework again?"

"Shut up and sit down. Breakfast is ready. Let me do my homework in peace."

It was a comforting ritual.

"Thanks for the food," Antonio would grunt, shoveling down the plate that the still-half-asleep Feliciano had handed to him. "Tastes like it was made with love."

"Sure, whatever bastard, Feli isn't even cognizant right now."

"I don't mean Feli."

"Gah! Idiot! He's the one making breakfast." A pen or pencil or eraser or fork or handy projectile of some sort would be tossed at Antonio's head.

Same way every morning.

* * *

Antonio's morning routine was slightly different. He would arrive at the Vargas twins' house every morning to take them to school (because his parents could afford his new Ferrari and Nonna Vargas could barely afford to keep their little beat-up Saturn SL-1) but he would usually leave by 7:15. The Vargas house was about ten minutes away. He got there just in time to see his cute little Roma jog down the stairs dressed and ready, a scowl on his shower-fresh-red cheeks.

He wasn't stalking. This he was very adamantly sure of. He was just there _early_ so he didn't want to be a bad guest so he sat outside for awhile and waited until a more appropriate time to go in! Anyone with half a brain could see _that_.

And every morning he saw Romano wake up the house, make the coffee, and get breakfast ready all the way up to the actual food preparation and he would think of how adorable Romano was and how much fun it would be if they got married and then he would go inside and eat some of the food and know very well that it _was_ made with love. He was sure of that. Romano was just… shy…he didn't like attention and he didn't ask for it so he let Feliciano do things and get the credit but Antonio was determined to appreciate him for the star he was. That was okay, right?


	3. A Bad Idea Gets Worse

Fourth period was the period that all three ditched: Francis, Antonio, and Gilbert. Francis and Antonio were there first, because both of them only had P.E. All that they had to do was to wander in to the locker room and give the coach a head's up. He'd mark their names down on the attendance sheet and promptly forget that they never actually got dressed and came to class. Instead, they would wander down to the back of the old sports-equipment shed and lounge until Gilbert got there.

Gilbert had biology (for the third time. If he didn't pass this year, he wasn't graduating) but he snuck out of the back of the room fifteen minutes in. Mr. Milo was the kind of teacher who read everything directly off the overhead, so everything was dark and it wasn't hard to slip away. Gilbert rationalized his absence as the fact he could copy all of his bruder's notes and not miss a thing. He wasn't going to point out that his bruder was two years younger and still in the same class.

Today, Francis and Antonio waited for their other friend, sprawled on the dirt behind the shed. Antonio had flopped down first, and Francis, biting his lip and looking like he was steeling himself for something, sat between Antonio's legs and leaned into his chest. Antonio laughed and hugged his friend closer.

"_Cielos!_ Where is Gil? He's usually here earlier than this," said Antonio mildly, closing his eyes as if he were about to take a nap. Francis shifted his head to look up at him, arching an eyebrow.

"Where _isn't_ Gilbert? He could be chasing a girl, he could be smoking pot, he could have gotten lost and decided to crash _Roderique's_ orchestra class as he has so many times before."

Antonio made a sound of acquiescence, not opening his eyes. "True, true."

There was a silence in which Antonio was entirely too relaxed; Francis felt that he was absolutely at his most awkward. Did Antonio not notice exactly what position they were…?

"Hey bitches, miss me?" crowed Gilbert, sidling over to plop down and flop his head onto one of Antonio's thighs. _Merde. _Sometimes the inherent closeness between the three was more of a roadblock than anything.

There was something dangling from Gilbert's long, pale fingers. It was half a cardboard milk container, like the ones sold in the cafeteria, and it had a thin plastic handle attached to it. Inside was a bunch of what looked like newspaper shavings, and… a small, white egg.

"Gilbert, what on earth…?" Francis asked.

Gilbert flashed him a knowing smile, raking his gaze across Francis' position, before smiling with a little less malice and a little more pride. "My biology project, baby. We have to watch an egg for a week, bring it to class and home and all that. Supposed to simulate a kid. Pff whatever, raising West was way harder than dragging around an egg." Gilbert had been taking care of his younger brother since his parents died in a car crash some years ago. They had a grandfather as well, who provided for them and tried to be supportive, but he was like Gil's brother in his staid demeanour. He was also a research professor and was often gone for long periods of time on projects in all parts of the world, mostly archeological digs in central Italy.

"Mmm… aren't you supposed to have a partner for the project?" asked Antonio, cracking open one eye. "Me and Francis had an egg, little Andorra." He smiled fondly, as if the egg had been an actual daughter.

"Well, yeah, but there's an odd number of kids in the class. Plus, I'm too _awesome_ to get married and have someone else raise my kid."

"Then how did you get the kid – egg – in the first place?" demanded Francis. "Biologically, its not really possible."

"Cuz 'asexual' starts with 'a', just like awesome does."

That caused a round of snorts. Still, it was funny to see the look of parental tenderness in Gilbert's face as he contemplated the package in his palm.

"You know that those aren't fertilized, right?" Antonio said bluntly. "It's not going to hatch or anything. I learned that the hard way." His tone turned a little wistful.

"You never know," Gilbert shot back. "Since his daddy is so awesome and stuff."

"Then just keep sitting on it, _mon amie_." Francis said with a shake of his head.

The silence was companionable; they might just take a nap today, if no other shenanigans presented themselves. Out of the blue quiet, Antonio said in a low, awestruck voice. "He smiled at me this morning. In the car. He smiled at me when I complimented him and blushed and it was adorable."

Francis stiffened and Gilbert raised an eyebrow. Uh-oh… they all knew who Antonio had been talking about (who Antonio had been talking about since Romano was a freshman) but now, with the distinct beginnings of a love triangle beginning mitosis, the announcement was met with calm contentedness only on Antonio's part.

Francis spoke first. "Mmm… _mon amie_ that is a very good sign, but…" He turned his gaze to Gilbert, begging him with a look that clearly announced "_help me_". Gilbert shrugged and smiled nastily as if to say "_Nope, this is your problem_!"

"But…?" asked Antonio pleasantly.

"Well… do you think… how can you be sure that the boy _likes_ you?"

Gilbert let out a snort.

Antonio froze. "H-huh?"

"_Toni_. My friend, you have been chasing this boy for years upon years and nothing that you have done has been much of help. I think that you have made your intentions perfectly clear to him, but have you really received any sort of confirmation that the boy is even interested?"

Antonio's mouth hung open, mind working slowly.

On his other side, Gilbert sighed. "Actually, I'm gonna agree with Frankie here. I think you and that bitchy Italian fit, in some weird way." He received a jab in the ribs from Francis for that. "… but… I think you need some sort of confirmation. Really, Tony. You should… I dunno, just _tell _him. And if he rejects you, well," he shrugged. "There are other fish in the sea."

Antonio's lips moved soundlessly. Finally:

"Is _that_ why he is so reluctant? He doesn't think that I love him?" Antonio shot to his feet. "That's it, I have to do something about that." Francis and Gilbert fell unceremoniously off of their human pillow.

"D-do something?" asked Francis, cursing himself. "Non, non, that's not –"

"I'll do it today, in drama club! He said he'd come watch! This is perfect!"

"Antonio, I don't think –"

But the boy was gone. Francis glared at Gilbert. "If you are not gone in three seconds, your little egg is _quiche_."


	4. Stagefright or Something Like It

_Um, yeah, I have no excuses. Sorry. Here, have another chapter. _

_The song is "Camera Shy" by School Boy Humor and is pretty much responsible for everything that this story is, was, and will become. (Hahah I have no part in this, at all)_

* * *

"Oi, where is the tomato bastard?" Romano demanded without prelude, plopping onto the lunch bench as far from Gilbert and Francis as he could possibly be. It wasn't far. It was a small bench. He glared suspiciously at Francis, noting the extreme lack of … lecherousness on his face. In fact, Francis was moodily poking at the sorry excuse for a salad on his Styrofoam tray, looking for all the world as dejected as if prostitution had been outlawed. Which – lo and behold, it had been, at least in this country.

"Dunno," said Gilbert with a shrug and a strange grin on his face. Well, stranger than usual. "He just ran off during fourth period – said he had something to do."

At his words, Francis' plastic fork cracked through his lunch tray, spilling salad in his lap. The blonde jumped up hastily, swearing. "Merde! I just bought these pants and I was told they make my ass –"

"Don't finish that sentence, pervert," muttered Romano moodily, poking at his own lunch of pizza and animal crackers. Stupid Antonio – Romano was gracious enough to sit with him and his stupid friends every day at lunch and the bastard wasn't even there!

"Hey, whatcha so down about?" asked Gilbert, sliding in down the bench to poke at Romano's cheek.

"Agh! Back off, pedo!" Romano yelped, shoving Gilbert backwards so he sprawled awkwardly on the linoleum of the cafeteria.

Gilbert kept smiling. "If I'm a pedophile, Antonio is too."

"He is not!" Romano practically screeched, leaping to his feet. "B-because that would imply that we – that he – was capable of being in a relationship! And he's definitely not! He's too dumb a-and… and yeah!" he finished, punctuating his outburst with a kick in the direction of Gilbert's head. The albino just laughed and swung himself back upright, avoiding the kick.

"Aww… Lovi that's so not cute…" mumbled a voice behind him.

Romano spun with a sound that was much like a squeak (but he was too manly to squeak, of course) and a blush on his face. Antonio had heard…?

"What're you doing, eavesdropping?" he demanded, color climbing with the pitch of his voice. He yelled when he was embarrassed – it was the best way to cover it.

Antonio looked confused, and had a strange look on his face, but it was quickly brushed aside with one of his brilliant smiles. "Aww, you're so cute! All red and flustered – were you waiting for me?"

"Yes. Where were you?" Romano snapped, then stopped, eyes widening when he realized he had just admitted to waiting for the bastard. However, Antonio did not seem to notice. Which was annoying. Damn, was that boy just thick? He probably had to be, to put up with all the shit Romano gave him. He knew he gave Antonio shit. But that was okay, because Antonio knew he didn't mean it.

Romano completely missed the venomous glance that Francis was directing toward them as Antonio pulled Romano into a quick hug before sitting down at the lunch table and pulling a bag of chips and vitamin water out of his messenger bag. Romano made a little sound of displeasure and moved to pout in the seat across from the Spanish boy.

"I was taking care of something for drama club," Antonio explained, eagerly digging into his bag of chips. "Are you going to be there today?"

"Kind of _have_ to be," Romano muttered. "I need a ride home. Feli is being tutored by his tight-assed Asian friend."

Antonio grinned. "Good. I have something to show you, so stay awake this time, okay?"

"Tch, whatever. Maybe."

"Mon chou, what is it that you are plotting?" Francis had managed to wipe up most of his salad mess, and slipped over to put an arm around his friend, leaning a head on the brunette's shoulder and whispering in his ear. "Do you not know that I am starting try-outs for the school play today?"

"Don't worry, I won't be a nuisance, I promise!" Antonio said fervently. "Please, I have a really really good idea!" He turned his huge green eyes on Francis, and the blonde stared back, sighing. No, there was no way to resist. Something about the Spaniard had even _him_ trumped for sexiness. It was depressing.

"Oi, what're you whispering about?" demanded Romano, having given up finding a way to wipe the grease off his pizza and instead picking up his animal crackers. He viciously bit the head off an elephant, not at all liking the way that Francis was hanging off Antonio. Not as if it were a rare occurrence…

"Nothing, _querido_!" Antonio promised brightly.

"Sex." Gilbert answered at the same time, stroking an egg in a milk carton. Romano raised an eyebrow at the action, but did not question it, despite the fact Gilbert was currently whispering something to the egg in German. That idiot was going to find out the hard way that those things weren't fertilized. He still remembered the time that Antonio had run to him, sobbing, after Biology class, when his teacher had dropped "Little Andorra" and "she" smashed to bits on the floor. He had been fiercely relieved, in some sick sort of way, that anything resembling a connection between Antonio and That Blonde Perverted Bastard had been erased.

Not that he was considering infanticide or anything. It was only a fucking egg.

The lunch bell grated heavily in his ears, and he sighed, shoving his half-finished lunch into the trashcan. Yay. More classes that he didn't care about.

"I'll see you after school, then, Lovi!" Antonio promised, hugging Romano again, who stood as stiff as a board and tried not to look pleased.

"Whatever."

Only two and a half more hours….

* * *

Romano, as asked, showed up to Drama club. However, he was only coming under protest, and half an hour late. Because he could. Never mind that all he had done in that half an hour was sit in front of the auditorium and stress about what the blue fuck Antonio had up his sleeve.

He attempted to slink into his seat in the back of the room, but Antonio was _waiting _for him as he entered.

"Lovi!" He called from his seat on the edge of the stage, where he was talking with Francis and Elizaveta, the costume designer. A few other students were in groups on the fringes of the room, going over monologues or at least pretending as if they were. "Lovi, Lovi, come here!" He vaulted down from the stage, landing with a stumble and almost falling flat on his face. Romano resisted the urge to move to help him catch his balance, despite the fact he was too far away to be much good. Instead, he glared at Antonio and walked stiffly over to him and his friends. He eyed Francis and Elizaveta suspiciously. The brunette girl had a glint of absolutely unholy glee in her eyes. By contrast, Francis looked as dejected as he had at lunch. Something was up.

"Lovi, Lovi, guess what?" Antonio asked with a wide smile on his face. "Francis says that I can be Romeo in the school play! Isn't that wonderful?" He was so needy for congratulations that it actually made Romano's brain hurt a little.

"Sure. Great," he muttered grudgingly, not willing to completely derail the Spaniard. "Is that all you wanted me to come here for?"

Antonio's eyes lit up as if he had just remembered something particularly wonderful and sugar-coated. "Nope! I have a surprise for you! So sit down, okay?" Not waiting for a reply, he pushed Romano's shoulders until he was forced to sit back in one of the fronnt row seats. Romano shifted uncomfortably, already feeling like he had the attention of most of the people in the room. But that was just silly; no one was paying attention to –

"Everyone!" Antonio announced, clapping his hands and swinging himself back onto the stage. "Can I have everyone's attention, por favor? Just a few moments! Can you all take a seat?"

Most of the drama kids did as they were told, having been conditioned to pay attention to whoever was on stage. Elizaveta let out a little squeal of delight and plopped onto the nearest seat. Francis shot a nervous look at Romano and sat next to her.

"Ludwig, Vash? Like we practiced at lunch?" prompted Antonio, peering out from against the low illumination on the stage. Immediately, the two tech boys sprang into action, dimming the house lights completely and setting a spot on Antonio. He stood directly in the center of the stage, smiling faintly. Then, he tapped his foot once, twice, and nodded his head.

Immediately, a string instrumental version of what sounded like it could have been a pop song blasted from the speakers. And what's more – Antonio was singing.

_There is no hope for you and me_

_Cuz this long drive might be_

_The last time I take the wheel_

_You're not sure how you feel …_

Romano felt his jaw drop and he didn't bother to pick it back up again. Th-that bastard. Was staring _right at him_. Right. At. Him. And everyone in the auditorium knew it, because _they_ were staring at him, too.

_I hear the spotlight always gives you stage fright…_

Romano's heart was beating about a billion times a second and he was actually having a little trouble breathing. He was caught between abject embarrassment at his situation and… well, actually, a fair bit of excitement. Was Antonio singing to him…? His voice was so low and mature; he sounded like the mariachi singers at the Mexican restaurant down the street, only much more… sexy…

_You play the love, and baby I'll play the lead_

_Just strike a pose and fake a smile, you're coming with me_

_I'll strum my guitar 'cuz boy I know how you are_

_You're just a little bit camera shy, but you're still a star_

Romano was about to let himself be flattered. He was going to give in. He was happy, goddamnit, that Antonio cared enough to do… this…

But then the bastard began to move. Walk, actually; as the spot followed him, he slowly began to descend the stage. And he was moving towards Romano.

Oh hell no. There was no flipping way that bastard was –

And now, all eyes really were on Romano as Antonio moved closer to him, an absolutely smouldering look on his face.

_Can I pick you up? Will you be my star?_

_The spotlight's up_

_Move close for the final scene…_

And Antonio did just that, moved in front of Romano until he was kneeling at his feet. The irate Italian did little more than stare and blink as Antonio moved in close, resting his hands on Romano's knees. They were shaking.

The music died away.

"Romano Vargas, I've had a crush on you for a very long time, and I want to know, once and for all – will you be the Juliet to my Romeo? Will you… please… go out with me?"

The look on Antonio's face was so open and embarrassed and earnest and desperate and he was so close to him and the blood rushed completely to Romano's face and this had to be _the worst, most embarrassing moment of his LIFE_ and he opened his mouth and –

"HELL NO, BASTARD!"

And flew from the auditorium.

Yes, that was the best way to handle the situation.


	5. Opportunists, Benedict Arnold, and Angst

**Gosh, I am so slow. I'm sorry…**

* * *

Romano ended up walking home. He didn't really want to talk to anyone – his face still burned from the embarrassment of having the i_entire auditorium/i's_ eyes on him. God, Antonio was so fucking stupid.

This wasn't actually the first time Antonio had been incredibly loud and vocal about this little … game… that he and Romano had going. He had offered Romano a dozen roses in the middle of English class once. That hadn't been fun. Antonio also repeatedly grabbed his hand at school (what kind of weirdo did _that?)_ and hugged him at awkward moments.

Well, it could have been awkward.

It should have been.

Romano was the only one who thought it wasn't awkward, that's all. He might… not have minded… but it was the precedent! He had a reputation to uphold.

So he walked home in the cold November air and wondered what the hell Antonio was thinking and when he would just give up and stop being such a dork. Stupid fucker, always wanting attention. Stupid fucker, always dragging Romano into his ridiculous schemes. Strike a pose and fake a smile his i_ass/i_, he wasn't going anywhere with anyone.

Content that Antonio was just and idiot and that everything would go back to normal, Romano continued his walk home.

* * *

Francis knew that he was being malicious, but he felt like cheering at Antonio's grief-stricken face. He was not happy that his friend was upset; he wasn't _that _much of a sadist. But this meant – after an appropriate mourning period – Antonio was fair game.

Gilbert was leaning on the edge of the stage, watching the proceedings. His silver brows were furrowed. Honestly, he didn't think that it would be this much of a disaster, despite the spazz that 'Toni tended to be at times.

Francis saw Antonio crumple slightly into himself, and his face froze for a minute, but then that stupid smile was back on his face – not the real one, the fake one that he pulled out whenever Romano head-butted him or stomped on his hand or rejected him…

This particular mask was cracking.

"I think that practice is over…" Francis mumbled. Antonio turned abruptly and took off up the steps onto the stage, disappearing into one of the wings. Francis didn't wait to see what the reactions of the rest of the drama club would be; he followed his friend.

It wasn't hard to find him. He was curled on the overstuffed, springless couch in the defunct green room, chin on drawn in knees, staring at the wall and looking absolutely dead inside.

Francis felt a pang in his heart. It wasn't sympathy for Antonio, although he, of course, felt horrible that his love interest was hurting. It was something else.

He slid onto the couch next to Antonio, putting an arm around his shoulder.

"_Cher_," he began gently. "Do you want to talk?"

Unblinking, Antonio slowly shook his head.

"Do you want me to stay?"

A pause, then a nod, and Francis felt his heart leap a bit. He kept his expression under control though, leaning closer to his friend and leaning his head on a shoulder. Antonio put his nose into Francis' hair; the blonde could feel warm breath on his scalp and smelled the spicy scent of Spanish boy.

Antonio's chest fell in uneven gasps. Francis did not look up to check his assumptions about the wetness he felt in his hair. He just kept silent, listening as Antonio whimpered.

"_Lovino…mi Corazon…te amo..._"

* * *

Romano woke up at exactly 7:30 as he did every morning. He cut up ingredients for breakfast, washed tomatoes, poured juice and coffee, and then called to his brother. Same as he did every morning.

He also, slyly, secretively, looked outside the kitchen window, searching for the pretty little red car that lurked there every morning, thinking that Romano didn't notice.

This morning, it wasn't there.

At 8:15 in the morning Nonno tripped downstairs in his fake snake-skin boxers (that Romano thought could _not_ be comfortable) and Antonio did not waltz in. And Romano realized that maybe something was wrong.

He had time to think about it as he walked to school for the first time in a very, very long time, dragging Feliciano and making sure he did not get distracted by kittens or shiny rocks or whatever the hell else the boy thought was interesting at the moment.

"Why didn't Antonio come and pick us up?" asked Feliciano cheerfully, nose red from the cold and looking too happy to have been dragged out of bed only fifteen minutes ago.

"Don't have a fucking clue," Romano growled.

He might have had a clue. But he was just kidding himself. Why in the world did he think that Antonio possibly meant it when he –

Without noticing, they had arrived on the school grounds. Romano probably _wouldn't_ have noticed, except for Feliciano was squealing in his ear.

"Antonio~~!" He yelled, breaking out of Romano's dogged grip – which had lately been around the collar of his shirt, to keep him from wandering off – and running over to where the achingly familiar figure was standing and looking as if he wanted to sink into the ground. "Antonio, why didn't you come to pick us up today?" Feliciano whined, throwing his arms around Antonio's neck.

Antonio plastered on a smile, a fake-looking creature that Romano wanted to smack off his face. "S-sorry Feli. I just …" he couldn't finish the sentence, that much was clear. Romano stayed as far away from him as he possibly could. Oh shit, he really couldn't have meant –

"He had to come pick _me _up," a soft, oily voice oozed. Strong, pale arms wrapped themselves around the Spaniard's shoulders.

Romano's eyes narrowed. "Hey. Pervert. What's going on?" That got him to creep closer to the tight little knot of people who were presumably trying to ruin his life.

"His car broke, so I… I had to pick up Francis…" Antonio murmured, meeting no one's eyes. He offered no other explanation. Romano didn't ask for one. He just narrowed his eyes and shouted a string of his nastiest Italian curses. Then he whirled and walked away, dragging Feliciano with him.

Watching him go, Antonio crumpled into himself, sitting down on a nearby bench. The eyes of the kids in the quad, half-drawn to the altercation, were already drifting away. Francis sat next to him, patting his hand as he put Antonio dropped his head into his hands.

"I don't know what I did…" Antonio murmured.

"Nothing, cher, nothing at all," Francis returned.

And Romano, not hearing any of this at all, walked away, sure now.

Fucking Benedict Arnold, throwing it in with the fucking pervert. Antonio had not meant his confession at all.


	6. Gilbert Does Not Want, Aru

**A timely update? Blasphemy! (It probably won't be all that regular, either... sorry...) I still love you all. So much. Everything you say to me makes me smile ridiculously for days. I'm not joking.**

**

* * *

**

If Romano thought that by leaving Antonio's vicinity, he would be spared embarrassment, he had another thing coming altogether. Walking into school, he was immediately assaulted by none other than one Elizaveta Hedervary. She was squealing and there were tears – he was not fucking imagining them, there were _tears_ running down her face. She began to hit him on the shoulder repeatedly (and she was a _strong_ bitch) and whine at him.

"You ruined it!" she squealed. "You ruined everything! I had cameras set up in the theatre and in the green room and I was going to get the _best_ footage ever and then sell it to Kiku and he promised to draw me doujinshi and you totally ruined it!"

Romano winced at the blows, momentarily letting go of his little brother and allowing him to escape – probably into some perverted German's arms but he was a little too preoccupied to get angry at the moment – before trying to move away. Elizaveta followed him.

"You're so heartless! We had this all planned out!"

Elizaveta was playing the part of some poor, airheaded fangirl, but it didn't reach her eyes. They were steely and vowing revenge. Romano shivered.

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, unless it's about that stupid tomato-bastard's attempt to embarrass the hell out of me – _again_ – in front of the entire Drama Club. And if it is, then I'm not sorry." Romano's gut twisted as he said that, but he paid it no mind, moving over to his locker and wrestling with the combination that he somehow managed to forget every morning.

Elizaveta ignored him. "Do you know how _long_ it took me to bug the greenroom – not to mention setting up the cameras! I skipped sixth period. Though, I mean, it wasn't _totally_ useless…" she backtracked, smiling a little. "I got a little bit of Francis and Antonio…"

Romano growled and slammed his locker. "Are you fucking done? I'm aware that the tomato-brain is now hanging all over that perverted idiot so would you kindly shut the fuck up?"

Elizaveta smacked him in the back of the head.

"This is _all. Your. Fault._" She reiterated. Then she growled herself, when, a second later, a pale arm flopped itself around her waist.

"Hey, princess," Gilbert oozed. "Y'mind not beating up _everyone_ who gets in the way of your strange fetishes?"

That earned _him_ a smack, too, but he took it in good graces, swinging his milk-carton nest on one finger. "Just for that, I'm not letting you put a wire on me next time I get Roddy into a broom closet."

Elizaveta let out a very un-feminine shriek of frustration, kicking him in the shins before stalking off. "You jerk! I'm gonna air all the tapes I made of you and Roderich last summer on YouTube, just see if I don't."

Gilbert just shook his head and chuckled, leaning non-chalantly on the row of lockers next to Romano. "They'd get banned on pornography controls before anyone would see them," he told the irate boy casually.

Romano glared at him, really not in the mood to see one of the tomato-bastard's (when he thought _Antonio_, his heart did something weird; he'd rather just stick with nicknames) friends right now.

"Okay, thanks for drawing off that weirdo, can you fuck off now?" he asked.

"Nope."

Romano growled again. "Fine; its almost first period, anyway. I'm leaving."

"No, you're not."

Gilbert whirled on Romano, catching him off guard and pinning his shoulders to the locker. "You're gonna meet me, here, at lunch, you got that?"

Romano's eyes widened in shock and not a bit of fear. "W-why in h-hell would I do that?"

"Cuz I can make your life completely miserable if you don't, me and my chick here can," Gilbert said, patting his egg gently, maternally. "You've done something pretty bad to one of my friends, you know."

Romano's eyes narrowed. "Oh, don't even start with me. He's already moved the fuck on; that bastard wasn't serious."

"You're gonna be one _wrong_ lump of flesh before I'm done with you," Gilbert said menacingly. "Now, I'm gonna give you one chance. Meet me here at lunch. Or else."

Well, damn it, if Romano wasn't maybe going to agree with that.

* * *

First period was a joke – Romano wasn't in any mood at all to pay attention. He was too busy thinking of what _or else_ could possibly entail. He found himself to be frighteningly imaginative.

His friend Matthew – hey, he remembered the kid's name today, that was unique – shuffled up to him during nutrition, between second and third periods. He looked as miserable as Romano felt.

"Oi, what's up?" he demanded of the underclassman. Matthew looked up at him with flooded violet eyes.

"A preposition," the kid said softly.

Romano rolled his eyes. "Clever. Really. Now spill."

"It's not a big deal, don't worry," Matthew said uncomfortably.

Romano was on a short fuse today. A very short fuse. One that wasn't going to take crap from _anyone_, especially not a shy little blonde kid who needed to speak the fuck up or stop looking so miserable.

"Tell me now or I'm gonna shove you into a locker," said Romano. The fucker _grinned_ at him.

"You're too nice for that," Matthew assured him. "But… well, its really stupid. There's just this guy…"

Romano groaned. Why was everyone having trouble with "just a guy" today? "Yeah?"

"And I like him, a lot, but… well… he's been _all over_ someone else and I… well, I don't really have a chance, do I…?" His voice trailed off at the end, and damn it if the kid didn't look like he was gonna _cry_.

"Dunno, who is your competition?"

"He's… he's tall and he's got kinda tan skin and gorgeous green eyes and dark hair and…"

"You're fucked, kid," Romano said in despair. "Sorry to burst your bubble."

Matthew blinked in surprise, but he didn't have a chance to reply – the bell for class had rung, and Romano was gone.

* * *

And then lunch had arrived and Romano was standing by his locker like a cowed freshman – no, no, like a brave and belligerent soldier, that was right, facing some sort of monster Goliath dude – waiting for Gilbert to show up. The albino didn't disappoint, striding over to Romano with a feral grin and that stupid egg twirling in his fingers.

"I'm here. What the fuck do you want?" asked Romano, eyes looking everywhere but Gilbert. It wasn't as if he was afraid – of course not – but he wanted to make sure that Antonio wasn't in the vicinity. He used to pass this way every day before lunch, Romano knew, on the way to his locker.

"Don't give me 'tude," Gilbert warned, draping an arm over Romano in a way that was decidedly not friendly. Damn Antonio's friends and their excessive touchiness.

"Fine. Where. Are. We. Going. _Please_." Romano asked in a half-hearted attempt to be mocking.

"Clever, boy. The auditorium. Come on."

And Gilbert dragged him off, ignoring any and all protests from the general Italian direction, including insisting that he did not want to return to "the scene of the crime". Gil got behind Romano eventually, physically pushing him into the building and up the set of stairs in the back, to the enclosed tech roost.

"Sit." Gilbert ordered, shoving Romano into one of the comfortable swivel chairs that stood in front of a series of panels and screens that looked vaguely alien and way too much for their school to actually have been able to afford.

Gilbert sat in the other chair, leaning over a big, flat computer monitor and the disc drive/ growling-mechanical-monster-creature lurking underneath it.

"Che cazzo!" demanded Romano, switching to Italian. "Just tell me what's going on, idiota, or else I'm outta here."

"Chill, kid," Gilbert barked. He pulled a CD out of the pile next to the machine, inserting it. "Shut up at watch this and then tell me what the hell you're gonna do to fix it."

"What?"

And then the computer screen flickered to life, a rather high-quality picture blooming into view. It was the inside of their greenroom – the camera was suspended in a corner, directly facing their only wreck-of-a-couch. Romano wondered if a camera had _always_ been there, but of course he hadn't been inside often.

There was someone entering the room – someone with curly dark hair and deep green eyes and perfect tan skin and Romano noted the time-stamp at the bottom – 4:30 the day before.

Oh shit.

The fucking bastardo – Romano knew it was that stupid Spaniard but again he was having a hard time thinking his name – ran in, actually ran, slamming the door behind him and throwing himself onto the couch.

Romano flinched.

The bastardo then curled himself into a ball, pulling his knees against his chest and his forehead to his knees so Romano couldn't see his face but his shoulders were _shaking_ –

And then that fucking blonde pervert waltzed in and began to – to _cuddle_ with the bastardo and Romano almost demanded that Gilbert tell him why in the _hell_ he wanted to watch those two feeling each other up when he heard the words spilling out of the b-bast – out of Antonio's mouth.

"_Lovi…mi Corazon… te amo..."_

And the fucker was crying.


	7. Long Awaited by 'Toni AND the Reader

**This thing is giving me so much difficulty. I had to take a bit of a break and figure out what exactly I meant to do with it. I hope that I didn't lose many of you… it's been awhile. But I think it's worth it. I really know where I want this to go now, and there are only one or two chapters left. Hopefully the wait will not be so dire.**

**Sunny, I totally didn't copy you. I PROMISE. I told you, I had this idea in my head for a little bit. SO I'M NOT A PLAIGARIZER OR ANYTHING. YOU JUST INSPIRE ME TO ACTUALLY FINISH THIS.**

* * *

Romano couldn't do much more than stare at the screen, blinking rapidly. The roaring in his ears effectively drowned out the audio from the tape, and he was left with his shocked-silent brain processing images of Antonio with his cheeks shiny with tears.

_Oh shit_.

Romano clapped a hand over his mouth, certain he was going to throw up; there was an awful, poisonous pain in his stomach that he only vaguely recognized as deep, abiding guilt. He had made Antonio cry. He had actually done something so horrible that the kid who had barely shed a tear when he broke his arm last summer, who smiled encouragingly even when he was getting picked on by Arthur Kirkland in middle school, who never once let his cheerfulness falter when he had the stomach flu that September, was a wreck on the couch in the greenroom.

Brain switching to autopilot, Romano stood up, fully intending to simply run away, to be alone so he could figure this shit out, but he was caught _very insistently_ by the arm. Gilbert was staring at him with an unfathomable mix of pity and determination.

"No way, kid, you're not running out of here and running the fuck away again. You did that _last_ time, and look at where it got you."

Romano bared his teeth, growling with a ferocity only brought on by desperation. "Fucking let go of me and give me a fucking _second_ to figure out what I'm gonna do, you shithead."

"I'm not letting go," Gilbert told him sternly, staring at him. "If you were anyone else, I'd have knocked out your teeth for talking to me like that, but I'm absolutely sick of seein' 'Toni look like he got his heart cut out and then macking with Francis to make up for it –"

Romano head-butted Gilbert in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and effectively silencing him. He was out the door and down the hall before Gilbert could even _stand_, much less follow, and far away before Gilbert had reached the door of the auditorium.

Gilbert stood at the door, watching the speck of brunette and bouncing curl dashing off the campus, even though it was only lunch. He had his egg carton in hand, and stroked it thoughtfully.

"Those two are so _not_ awesome for each other," he muttered. "But if it keeps 'Toni happy, what can ya do?" He held the egg up to his ear, as if listening. "Mmm hmm… well, yeah, I _could_ just go start my own country, but I think I gotta graduate first…. Hmm… you're right, Gilbird, that would be _awesome_…" He disappeared back into the auditorium to find the DVD and return it to Elizaveta.

* * *

Feliciano returned home at sundown after a study session with Ludwig, welcomed by the sounds of rapid cursing and a cracking, slushy sort of sound. He frowned, dropping his backpack and tripping through the house.

"Fratello…? Fratello, where are you? Is something wrong; do you want to talk …?" he called, making his way back to the kitchen. The ingredients for dinner that night were laid out – there were tomatoes and olive oil for sauce, and a lump of dough on a floured cutting board, beside glass bowls with the toppings for pizza. The only thing amiss in the room was the freezer, whose door was wide-open, the bucket of ice for the ice machine unhooked from the door. He followed the cursing and slush out to the back porch. Romano was standing there, in the half-dark of twilight, cursing a blue storm and throwing ice with killing force onto the concrete. Feliciano watched sadly for a moment, listening.

"…it was supposed to be a game – _figlio di puttana –_ it was supposed to be a game and the point was that no one would lose-! "

Finally, Feliciano couldn't take it anymore, coming up behind his brother and wrapping his arms around him.

Romano growled and jerked backwards, fully intending to fight back, before he realized it was only Feliciano. He relaxed slightly, cursing. "Shit… Feli, what the fuck do you want?" He couldn't summon the proper fire, and ended up only sounding defeated.

Feliciano didn't answer for a long moment, then finally asked. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"I think you do."

"I _don't_," Romano said, too softly. "Just shut up, okay?"

"Is this somehow about Antoni –"

"_Bidonista_! And he was _crying!_" Romano swore, twisting away from Feliciano and snatching a handful of ice, smashing it mercilessly on the concrete.

Feliciano cocked his head, frowning. "You made Antonio cry?"

Romano did something that Feliciano had not been expecting – he fell to his knees, hard, dropping his last handful of ice with nothing more than a pathetic tinkle. "No! Yes! I don't know!"

Feliciano padded over to his brother's side, kneeling in the slowly-melting ice slush. "Shh, it's okay, fratello. We'll figure this out."

"There's – There's n-nothing to figure out," Romano muttered into his hands. His voice was shaking but he wasn't crying; he couldn't cry. Antonio had already cried and he wasn't going to sink to his level. If they both were crying, the game was over, and they had both lost. "There's nothing. I f-fucked up and now F-Francis has him and Francis deserves him, too! Because I was an ass and fucked up."

Feliciano was more than a little taken aback. Romano had never once admitted that _he_ had done anything wrong. It was always "Antonio" this and "Tomato Bastard" that and now he was murmuring something that almost sounded like an –

"Are you apologizing, Romano?" Feliciano asked softly.

He had been expecting a denial.

"Y-yeah…" Romano stuttered. "Yeah, I guess I am. I'm sorry. I'm really really sorry." He never once looked up, but his ears grew bright red and his shoulders slumped.

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to, hmm?" Feliciano mused, rubbing his brother's back and thinking that perhaps he was finally growing up.

Finally, Romano dug his face out of his palms. "I can't. He is _never_ gonna forgive me, not ever. Not if he's already found a lover in that stupid Frenchie's arms. A-and… and that's why I'm pissed at him, too! He said he loved me and then let stupid wine bastard comfort him and kiss him!"

"Fratello, you can't expect him to go through this alone."

No, Romano couldn't, because he was blowing his nose on his brother's sleeve and allowing himself to be led into the house that smelled like yeast and hope.

"He won't ever forgive me," Romano repeated, as Feliciano replaced the ice bucket in the freezer and began to put some coffee on. Feliciano smiled.

"You keep underestimating Antonio, huh?"

Romano frowned.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Feliciano laughed a little. "Neither of you know much about each other at all!"

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," said Feliciano with a lazy grin, flicking the ball of pizza dough on the counter absently. "Now, please set the table 'cuz Nonno will be home soon and I also invited Ludwig over for dinner."

"Che cazzo?"

And Feliciano decided that this was another crisis averted, and if his brother was back to shouting about potatoes maybe there was some hope for him after all.

* * *

Antonio was on Francis couch, half in his lap, kissing him furiously.

Francis' skin was warm and very smooth; his forearms covered in fine, soft hair and the goatee that he was experimenting with brushing against Antonio's own chin as their lips met.

The couch was scratchy under his knees, and the hems of her baggy jeans were digging into his skin. Francis' hands were fluttering under his shirt, moving with a purpose –

Antonio supposed he should be paying more attention, and tried to focus on Francis' breath, smelling like the wine they'd been drinking – The Bonnefoy never cared, when he got into the alcohol.

Francis shifted on the couch, pushing gently on Antonio's ribs, coaxing him to lay flat on the couch, kneeling above him. Antonio squirmed, trying to get comfortable with the remote at his back and a heavy, insistent body perching across his hips –

"Antonio, stop squirming," Francis fairly purred, always soft and calm, always so in control. "Just relax and let yourself enjoy this, alright?"

Something in the house smelled like oregano, which was odd because the Bonnefoy's never allowed such an offensive spice within fifteen feet of their kitchen.

"Sorry, Francis," Antonio breathed, voice even and chirruping. Somehow, the sound annoyed him.

It didn't seem to annoy Francis, who bent down to lock their lips together again – or maybe it _did_ annoy him, and this was his way of shutting Antonio up. Either way, they began again, bodies brushing and fingers curled in bits of clothing.

It was Francis that broke the kiss, momentarily, sitting up.

"I'm famished," he said with a slow grin. "How about I make you something for dinner, and then… perhaps you can stay with me tonight?"

"Sure," Antonio shrugged, a little stiffly. He stayed over with Francis loads of times, when his parents were being all uptight about his grades or he just needed time to calm down and stop stressing about that underclassman boy who he drove to school every morning –

Francis' voice had implied something… extra … in the request however. But surely Antonio was misinterpreting – he always misinterpreted. He always said the wrong thing and thought the wrong thing, basing every action on one misstep –

Anyway, he and Francis and Gilbert had passed so many easy nights in one another's rooms, in the same bed, even; surely things weren't changing, not like that. This kissing thing was new, and maybe it was something besides Francis-brand comfort but for the moment all that Antonio was willing to see was what he wanted to.

Maybe he got that sort of narrow-minded obstinacy from Lo –

He pulled Francis back in for another kiss and let himself be comforted.

* * *

The next morning, Romano and Feliciano walked to school again. Feliciano, somewhere along the way when Romano took a moment to look away and blink a few times, managed to pick up a little tabby kitten and walked to school with it in his arms as he cooed softly to it. On the school grounds, he smiled and placed it into a flower-bed, patting its head a few times and calling it "good" and "nice" and "such a cute kitty, Fettuccine". Yes, he named the kitten Fettuccine.

Romano was going to irritably demand that Feliciano put the cat back where-ever the _hell_ it had come from, not in the fucking _flower-bed_, when he saw a bright red car pull into the school parking-lot, blasting German screamo and toting the three people that Romano decided he hated most in the world.

Two people, Romano had to remind himself. He only hated two of them. He had to… apologize to the other one.

Oh, Dio, he _needed_ to apologize to the other one.

Feliciano followed Romano's baleful gaze towards the occupants of the car. He smiled softly and elbowed Romano.

"Go on, he needs you," Feliciano said quietly.

"…" said, or rather didn't say, Romano. He couldn't reply to his brother; he couldn't think properly at all. The three _stronzo_ were barreling across the school grounds cheerfully, as they always did, a vast and solid clump of cheer and pervy feelings. The difference, this morning, was that Francis' hand was firmly in Antonio's back pocket. Antonio was smiling.

Romano spun and walked the other direction, into the school. He ignored Feliciano's entreaties to come back. Maybe he was brave enough to admit to himself that he needed to apologize, but he wasn't brave enough to actually do it.

Maybe he could just skip school forever and become a hermit and grow tomatoes his whole life.

The first bell rang.

* * *

Romano was able to get through exactly four periods in peace. And then he got the distinct feeling that he'd have to get through the rest in _pieces_ because, as he went to go retrieve his lunch from where he'd stashed it that morning, three people had surrounded him at his locker and absolutely refused to let him move without giving them a stern lecture. Or something.

The three people were Feliciano, Gilbert, and Elizaveta.

Romano's eyes flicked back and forth from one to the next to the next and realized that he was well and truly caught. Fuck.

"…I'd ask you what you wanted, but I think I already know…" Romano grumbled. "Also, Eliza, I… didn't mean to be such a dick yesterday. You're a lady – I think – and I had no excuse for swearing at you."

"Hmph. Apologies come easily enough when they're to a beautiful young woman," Elizaveta said with a half-smile. "But flattery will get you nowhere today."

"Yeah. You still have a job to do," grumbled Gilbert.

"Ve, fratello, I told them all about your plan to apologize to 'Toni!" Feliciano said cheerfully. "I know that you're Italian and all, but you really have to stop running away, okay?"

"Che?" demanded Romano. "What plan? I didn't have a plan – since when was there a plan?"

"Since last night!" Feliciano said with a smile. "I said that you should apologize and you said Antonio wouldn't forgive you so that means that you agree that you need to apologize and you're just too scared to."

Romano wasn't sure if that made sense or not, but the three pairs of eyes on him were enough to let him know that something had to be done.

"He's happy, Feli, he's smiling and he's got Francis' hands in his pants," Romano grunted, ignoring the other two and trying to push his way to his next class.

"If you think he's happy, you really don't know a lot about him," Elizaveta said with a faint frown.

"Well, excuse me _ma'am_," Romano gritted, wishing that she was not, in fact, of the female persuation. "Apparently everyone is of that opinion."

"So, we're gonna _help_ you get to know him," Gilbert said with a bit of a grin. Romano panicked.

And, before Romano knew it, one of his arms was wrenched up behind his back by none other than the albino fuckface, and he was frog-marched into the cafeteria, kicking and swearing a blue streak.

Everyone was dead silent and looking at him.

Antonio included.

If that wasn't bad enough, Feliciano was already on his way to the top of one of the lunch table, squishing someone's pizza under his boot and prompting a few yelps of protest that were completely ignored.

"Ve, everyone! I have something really important to say. Well, actually, my brother does. He wants to say something to Antonio. So I'm going to let him."

"Not in front of everyone!" Romano yelled, twisting against Gilbert as much as his arm would let him.

"Well, we would have let you do it your own way, but you chickened out," Elizaveta said cheerfully.

It wasn't "in front of everyone", really. As soon as Feliciano bounded off the table, the room pretty much went back to what they were doing. It was high school, after all. One lunchtime disturbance wasn't anything to get excited over.

So, yeah, no one was paying attention. Except for, you know, the people that Romano really didn't _want_ to be paying attention right now.

"… Lovi?"

Romano stopped struggling at the sound of the familiar nickname. He hung limply in Gilbert's grasp and just stared up at Antonio, who was standing and facing the odd bunch in the middle of the cafeteria.

"… hey," Romano mumbled.

"Lovi, you wanted to talk to me?" Antonio asked nervously. Behind him, Francis was also on the edge of his seat, looking like he was about to lunge forward and either strangle or rape someone. Possibly both.

"Get off of me, asshole, I'm not gonna run," Romano hissed at Gilbert. Gilbert happily twisted his arm just a tiny bit more before letting him go. Mouthing profanities (for the benefit of the lady) and rubbing his arm, Romano glared up at Antonio.

"Yeah, I wanted to talk to you. So, can we… you know, go somewhere that's not fucking in _here?_"

Francis stood at that. "I do not believe that is a good idea at all," he sniffed. "You, you monster, have done a horrible thing and I, for one, don't think that you should be around Antonio anymore."

"Hey, listen here –"

"… Lovi, I don't think it's a good idea to talk to you right now," Antonio interrupted.

Romano paused.

"_What?_" he demanded.

Antonio was still smiling at him – not the full out grin he usually displayed, but still, it was a grin.

"I just don't think I can be around you right now."

And then Romano saw something.

That smile was not real.

He wasn't sure how he figured it out, or what was different around it. All Romano knew was that whatever smile Antonio had on was plastic and he wasn't happy at all.

Elizaveta's words came back to him – "_If you think he's happy, you really don't know a lot about him" – _

Romano really didn't know a lot about him, but he knew that he was going to change that. Right. The fuck. Now.

"I don't give a fuck." Romano said. And he stood up straight. And he would not run away this time.

"Listen, retard," he continued, ignoring dirty looks from a few of the kids for his use of the "r" word. "I might have really f-ed up yesterday, but there is no excuse to leave me in the dust. Alright? Because I might have just had an epiphany here and hell if I'm going to let you ruin it."

Antonio's smile grew even more plastic and flat. Francis was staring at Romano with impotent rage. Feliciano and Elizaveta were squealing quietly and clinging to each other. Romano ignored everything but the confusion in Antonio's green eyes.

"You don't know a lot about me, you know that, Antonio?" Romano demanded. "You have no freaking clue that I really, really cannot stand being put on the spot in front of everyone. And that if you'd calm the hell down and act like a normal person I might not hit you so much. And stuff. But."

Romano took a deep breath.

"I don't know a heck of a lot about you, either. Like, I just figured out that you're really, really good at lying to yourself, and everyone else. And when you smile sometimes you don't actually mean it. And. And you like PDA almost as much as I hate it. So, I'm gonna do something and you're gonna appreciate it and _then_ you're gonna come with me and let me actually apologize, you dipshit."

And Romano heaved himself onto Antonio's table, stepping obnoxiously into Francis' lunch and hauling Antonio up with him. And then he kissed Antonio full on the mouth.

Elizaveta squealed. Half the room (the half that actually gave a shit and was paying attention to the soap opera directing itself for their enjoyment) was shocked silent. Francis stormed out of the room.

Romano felt his legs go just a little weak. He pushed Antonio away.

"So. Now that I've done that, will you listen to my apology?"

Antonio nodded dumbly and followed behind Romano.


	8. Camera Shy, but Still a Star

**And finally – bloody finally – we finish. I really, truly hope it was worth the wait. These last few scenes have been percolating in my head for almost a year, and I love them very much. Thank you all for being so loyal to me… I appreciate it so much.**

**And now – the end!**

* * *

Romano dragged Antonio out of the cafeteria and into the hallway, before realizing that he didn't know where he was going.

"Where are we going?" asked Antonio thickly, sounding detached and unsure of himself. It actually kind of pissed Romano off, hearing that kind of insecurity in his voice. _Romano_ certainly didn't know what he was doing – he depended on Antonio for that!

"Shut up and just follow me," Romano muttered, before catching himself. "I mean. Just. Just follow me, okay? Pl –" Romano took a deep breath. "Please."

The word shocked Antonio enough that Romano could drag him away in peace. Even when he was reasonably sure Antonio was following him, he kept a grip on the boy's arm. Hell if he was going to lose him _now._

Finally Romano found himself inside the (mysteriously unlocked. Bastard Gilbert) auditorium. He dragged Antonio up onto the stage, planted his feet, and hugged him. Really tightly. Enough to hurt. But there was no way Romano was going to get any softer than that.

"You scared the crap out of me and there were a billion fucking kids watching so of course I freaked out and ran away, you idiot!" Romano yelled into Antonio's shoulder. The kid was stiff beneath him, obviously still in shock, but Romano just held him tighter, trying to get him to understand.

"Romano, I really… really don't get it…" Antonio said, sounding in pain. Romano hated it. "Why did you kiss me…?"

Romano pulled back and glared at him. "Why would _anyone_ kiss you, lamebrain?" He was assured that there was only one answer.

But Antonio seemed to consider it seriously. "Well, Francis did it to comfort me –"

"No, he did it cuz he loves you and that's why I did it too!"

Romano blinked, caught himself, and smacked his hands over his mouth. Oh shit. Bad timing. Really fucking bad timing – worst timing in the world. He was trying to _apologize_ and he wasn't even sure if it was going to work and here he was, opening himself like _this_ in front of the one kid who really, really did not like him at the moment –

"… really?"

Romano nodded, not looking at Antonio's face. No use lying now. Look where _that_ had gotten him.

"F-funny way of showing it." Antonio murmured.

Romano almost got angry, and shot his head up to berate Antonio for his casual handling of a very serious confession – but he stopped.

"Oh _shit_!" Romano said in a panic, launching himself at Antonio again, smoothing his thumbs across Antonio's cheeks, trying to stop the flow of tears. He made Antonio _cry. Again_. "Oh god, damn, shit, I didn't want this to happen! I wanted to make it up to you!" His big green eyes were dark and pretty with tears, shining brighter than Romano had ever seen them and it didn't matter because Antonio was –

Smiling?

Yeah. The confused idiot was smiling so hard his face might break, even as tears dripped in two straight lines down his cheekbones.

"Oh, querido, tell me again. Please. Please, tell me –"

"I love you, you sick, stupid bastard, and … and… just stop crying!" Romano said, sniffing. _He_ wasn't crying – wasn't gonna, either. He was too strong for that. But maybe his vision was blurring, just a little, as Antonio scooped him up in his big, tan arms, and hugged him as tightly and painfully as Romano had done only minutes before.

And for that single moment, Romano knew deeper than anything that it would be okay. Really. They had a lot to talk about, and a couple of good, solid ground rules to set, but things were gonna be okay.

"I love you too, really I do," Antonio sniffed. It was kind of gross. Romano didn't care.

"I know…" he sighed. Because he did.

Romano let Antonio press his wet face into his neck and maybe even smiled a little bit. He was going to make it up to the idiot, good and proper, and now that they could be together again, he knew how he was going to do it, too.

* * *

"So," Feliciano said one morning at breakfast. "Nonno and I are coming to the show tonight."

"Shit bitch damn fuck _no_," groaned Romano.

It was four weeks after the debacle in the cafeteria. Antonio was now sitting at the breakfast table and discussing some Madrid-based indie band with Mr. Vargas. Suffice to say, things had gone well between him and Romano.

There had been a lot of crying (not Romano. Definitely not. Okay, maybe a little) and a lot of making out (most of that had been on Gilbert and Roderich's part. They owed Elizaveta for use of her surveillance video) but things had finally worked themselves out to an acceptable degree. Sort of. Maybe.

Francis had been insufferable for about three weeks – Antonio really _hadn't_ understood that he meant his actions to be more than just friendly comfort, and so Francis had taken himself to sulking and making snarky comments in French and generally hating Romano's guts. But the happiness in Antonio's eyes now shut even _him_ up, and Francis generally left them alone. Antonio looked hopeful, though, seeming to think their friendship would be saved. More power to him, Romano supposed.

Part of that hope came from a blushing, stumbling love confession from none other than Matthew Williams. Romano had almost forgotten him and his own love issues, with all the drama in the drama club – but it looked like the kid had been talking about Francis all along. Romano hoped it would work out – if only to get that groping pervert away from his man _forever_.

And y-yeah. Maybe Antonio _was_ his man. Maybe they were sort of kind of holding hands under the table maybe even right now. That was just about as far as Romano could let it go. He wasn't kidding about the PDA thing being a serious problem for him. It made him flinch even when Antonio kissed him goodbye in the halls. He had no _idea_ what he was thinking about the display in the cafeteria. But that had been a desperate measure.

But a relationship was about give and take, right? And Antonio had been really patient about everything but Romano _knew_ he was the kind who'd shout it from the rooftops if he had a chance.

So today, one month after everything had calmed the hell down and closing night for Romeo and Juliet, Romano was going to do something really stupid and Antonio was going to appreciate it and maybe this will make up for "the incident" for good.

He really didn't want Feliciano there to witness it, though. Because it was gonna be really damn embarrassing.

"You really _shouldn't_ come," Romano pressed.

"You're not even _in_ the show!" protested Feliciano, pouting. "We are coming to see Antonio!"

"Aww, that's so sweet, Feli!" Antonio cooed. "I'd love for you two to be there."

Mr. Vargas – in white boxers trimmed with fucking _feathers_, what the fuck? – clapped Antonio on the shoulder. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, Romeo," he boomed. "You're just like a grandson to me, you know; we'd love to see you."

The grin on Antonio's face made all of Romano's protests die a horrible, whining death in his throat. Well shit.

Romano resigned himself to the fact that what he was doing was embarrassing enough already; really, his family being there could not make it any worse.

Probably.

Ugh.

* * *

"You really shouldn't be back here," Francis said for the billionth time. He sounded resigned, as he should be. Romano was gonna sit his ass down in the green room and not leave, just like he had every night of the show. Romano fixed the blonde with a withering gaze, daring him to argue. Francis just sighed and slumped away. That was fine. He could get his new boyfriend to straighten out his PMS – Mattie was actually pretty good for him, in the anti-drama-queen respect.

Antonio waved at him as he left, then went back to fidgeting with his tights. At which Romano was definitely _not_ staring.

"Just- just stop picking at them, dammit, they're fine, you're fine, everything is fine!"

Romano was so nervous himself that his voice was all tight and squeaky and definitely not calming. He took a breath, cleared his throat, and then stalked over to Antonio. There were a few other actors in the room, but they ignored the two as much as possible, tucked into corners and twittering with closing-night jitters.

Romano plopped his arms on Antonio's shoulders very firmly, trying to convince himself that no one was watching him.

"You. Have been doing fine for the past six shows. This will not be any different, you hear me?" Romano growled, turning pink and pretending he wasn't. He was really, really close to Antonio's face.

"But –"

"No buts!" Romano growled. "If… if you do well tonight – and you're going to do well, dammit – I have… I'm going to… gah. Well. I have a surprise. Dammit."

"Aww, Romano, you're all red like a –"

"-say it and I stab you with your own dagger."

Antonio smiled dreamily. He put his hands on top of Romano's, on his shoulders. "Ah, thank you, my love," he whispered very quietly. Romano theorized he did this for the express purpose of making him even more red and hot under the collar. "I'm feeling much better. The only thing that would make me feel better is – can I have a kiss?" he asked seriously, eyes flicking around to the rest of the room.

Always so in tune to Romano's insecurities. Damn, the perfect, sweet, caring bastard –

Instead of answering, Romano pitched forward, and kissed Antonio very quickly on the lips, and pulled back with a jerk just as Elizaveta's voice came on over the PA.

"Five minutes to curtain – places everyone!" she chirped.

Antonio never lost his dreamy smile. It kind of fit Romeo, too. He stood up, grabbed Romano's hand, and placed his lips gently to the back of it. "I must bid you ciao," Antonio said with a wink, and with that, he and his brightly-colored tights were gone.

Romano blinked and willed himself to turn back to a normal color. He had to find Michelle and do a great helluva deal of convincing before she had to get on stage. It was time to put his plan for tonight in motion.

* * *

"… you're kidding me," Michelle said bluntly when Romano found her in the girl's dressing room. All the actresses had squealed good-naturedly when he entered, but no one was really undressed and he was pretty charming, if he did say so himself. He had pulled Michelle off into a corner and proposed his plan.

The girl – usually caught hanging around Francis; maybe _that_ was why she seemed to be impervious to his manly wiles – had her ubiquitous pig-tails down for once, and pinned under a medieval veil. She still had her stuffed fish plushie under one arm, but that was _not_ going on stage with her, express order of Elizaveta herself.

"No, I'm not kidding," Romano said shortly, trying to rein in his desperation and annoyance. "Please, 'Chelles," he said with a roguish wink. "It'll mean a lot to me."

Michelle raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think I want to give up my best monologue –"

"Please!" Romano said, interjecting. He could hear the lines being said onstage, over the PA. He _needed _her to agree before she went on. "I'll do… fuck, anything, really, promise."

Michelle raised an eyebrow.

"Anything?" she pressed.

Romano swallowed and nodded. Well, hell, he'd gotten _this_ far.

"Yeah," he muttered. Damn his weakness for pretty girls.

"A date."

Romano blinked, a grin creeping back on his face. "Well, if you insist –"

"With Antonio."

A vein in Romano's forehead twitched. If she thought she was going to spend an entire evening with _his_ fucking boyfriend, holding hands and making gooey-eyes and –

Then Romano caught himself. Because, if he knew one thing about Antonio, he was oblivious enough to – hopefully – not even notice her intentions.

And anyhow, he really didn't have a choice. Hopefully Antonio was obliviously monogamous as he seemed.

"… Fine…" he muttered, a litany of his best curses replaying silently in the back of his head.

Michelle, however, looked cheerful. "Aw, don't be so down! I only want to show him off and make the guy I like jealous. He's Cuban and runs real hot-blooded, you know," she said with a wink. "Got to go, now, but I'll see you right back here in Act Five, got it?"

Romano just scowled, and she tripped out, looking happy as a clam.

God dammit, Antonio better appreciate what he was doing.

He decided to look around for a wig.

* * *

Antonio was enjoying himself immensely, even as he was supposed to be sobering up. He'd just killed off Paris – and Gilbert had gone down with a laugh and a rude gesture that Antonio had hoped no one noticed – and raced into the mausoleum. It was going so well! No one had fumbled lines, and Antonio had even saved a few asses by palming a fake dagger to one of the Capulets during a fight scene when they forgot their own.

He saw Feliciano and Mr. Vargas in the audience. Feliciano was bawling. It was kind of adorable.

And he had Romano waiting for him backstage, with a surprise! Oh, but that was exciting.

Antonio went happily through his lines, trying to school his features into the proper tragedy as he saw Michelle lying dead with a veil over her face.

"Thus with a kiss I die!" he said, a little too cheerfully, pulling up Michelle's veil.

He almost spit out the water he'd just taken as poison.

That was _not_ Michelle. Antonio blinked, just staring. There, eyes closed and brows furrowed in anger, was _Romano?_

"Psst. Idiot. Kiss me and _die_." Romano whispered. Surprised, Antonio did as he was told, wretching dramatically before falling on his side. He could hear Feliciano's sobbing renew.

"Wh- what -?" Antonio whispered. Romano ignored him, shoving him to the side and sitting up.

"O comfortable friar! Where is my lord?" he grumbled. Ivan, a Friar scarier than any man of God had a right to be, leered at Romano. Romano glared right back, daring him to challenge the change in actors. Even if he shook a little while doing it.

And lo and behold, he played along, and soon Romano had a dagger in his chest and was sprawled very comfortably across Antonio's stomach as the play finished up. His wig had stayed on pretty well and his dress only bunched up a little. Even if there was a buzz from the audience when people realized this was _not_ the girl who had begun as Juliet.

"And now, no one can say that I didn't stake my claim in public, got it?" Romano whispered into Antonio's neck, where he might have purposefully landed.

"You did this for me?" Antonio whispered back in disbelief as Lady Montague cried over his tomb.

"Well, you like that sort of thing, right?" Romano asked bluntly. "Now everyone in the damn drama club, and the audience too, knows that you're mine. I even cross dressed for you. Beat _that_."

He felt Antonio laughing quietly beneath him.

"It's an odd way to go about it, tomatito, but it's just as adorable as you are," he cooed happily.

Fuck yeah, it was weird, but at least Antonio was smiling.

"… For never was a story of more woe than this of Juliet and her Romeo," Francis finished with a flourish.

As Romano stood for curtain call, Michelle on one side in street clothes and looking smug, and Antonio on the other and gripping tightly to Romano's hand, he couldn't help but think that Shakespeare got it _so wrong_.

And then Antonio dipped him into a kiss and he stopped thinking at all.


End file.
